


Fragile

by Froygunnr



Category: Welcome to the Punch (2013)
Genre: M/M, Not really rape, they are quite safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 10:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froygunnr/pseuds/Froygunnr
Summary: On a mission, Jacob acts in a way Max didn't expect and they will have a lot to talk about.





	Fragile

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: There is no rape in this.  
I put the rape warning because people who have gone through this have suffered enough and might not want to deal with anything that even touches that topic. It is strongly suggested and sort of the main focus of this fic, and Max is desperate and helpless which might bring back memories one would rather forget.  
If something happened to you, please know that are you right and valid and good. It wasn't your fault. Not even a bit. If you haven't sought out help yet, I ask you to please re-consider talking to someone you know and trust or if its easier: to a total stranger who is qualified to help.
> 
> All mistakes are my own, the characters aren't.

Max groaned as he was slammed face first into the wall. He struggled back, trying to push himself off the wall with his hands, squirming to get out of the firm grip holding him in place.

Jacob and him had talked it through. Drive to the industrial park, enter the junk yard under the pretense to bring in the car – one they had ”borrowed“ from the workshop – Max would sweet talk the attendant, Jacob sneak into the office to get the papers. In and out. No big deal.

At least that’s what it was supposed to be.

\------------------------------

He and Jacob had a fragile partnership. Sometimes, he wanted to see him locked up, wanted him to pay for what he did, but he also saw that he wasn’t a killer, that he could be cold and hard, but he didn’t set out for harm, didn’t hurt or kill if he could avoid it. They didn’t really know each other beyond what they could find out about one another behind the other’s back. They didn’t _talk_. Trust was given, but limited. Jacob would defend himself if he had to, Max wanted to see him behind bars. At least the biggest part of him. Or a part, at least. He didn’t want to dwell on it getting continuously smaller, often not on his mind at all.

They met outside the Punch. Max was driving up, seeing Jacob already standing there, half hidden in the shadows. He slowed down and unlocked the door with a small click, which promted Jacob to step forward, nod to Max in greeting and get in.

At some point during their drive, they noticed a car following them. Jacob had spotted it in the rear view mirror, paying attention to the model and plaque out of habit. Cars drove on roads. Nothing suspicious about that, except if it’s the same car for a long time and a route less frequented, or somebody speeding up and slowing down not quite in the normal pattern of traffic, but in a pattern matching yours. Which seemed to be the case for this one.

Jacob was readying his gun, lest they needed it. They thought about driving by the yard in order to distract from their plan. They passed by a packaging material factory, ready to keep driving past their goal, when they saw the car pulling into the parking lot there. To be safe, they took a different back road and halted the car, lights out, waiting to see if the driver would come in their direction. Jacob spared a glance to the side, coming to a silent agreement with Max that he would exit the car to get a better look. Max was capable and they never talked about his injury, but when it came to things that required running, jumping, climbing, or anything else that could be hard on the knees, it was Jacob who offered doing it. Now too, it would be easier for him to run towards or after the car if need be and Max had to take off quickly.

He crept towards the wall, engulfed in the shadows, rifle at the ready, and carefully looked past the building towards the few parked cars. The Nissan that had followed them was in the second row, maybe twelve spots from the right. He could see a man half bend into the boot, rummaging through whatever was in there. He closed the lid with a bag swung over his shoulder. Could be firearms.

As a street light at the lot illuminated his face, Jacob could see a rather plain looking man, progressed middle age, tired, and in work clothes. Could be a cover of course, but going by the visible sigh and the hand rubbing over his face, it could just as well be a worker arriving for his night shift. He stayed a moment longer, eyeing the man and looking about the parking lot for something else of interest. Not seeing anything, he turned back to the car, Max waiting for him with an inquisitve look on his face.

"All clear. Probably just a poor bastard in for his shift,“ Max made a non-committed sound and slowly started driving off.

\------------------------------

It had been surprisingly easy after that, which could have been the giveaway. The attendant was a grimy old man with a scowl etched into his face that gave way to a bright smile once Max brought up fly-fishing – he had spotted some gear in a bag lying in a corner. He had to dig a little, but he did remember some things still from when he was a boy and visiting his grandfather over a long weekend or a week or two of holidays. The man insisted on showing him different types of lure, terribly proud of having found a way to create ones way better than store-bought ones, if he was to be believed. Out of the corner of his eye, Max had seen Jacob signal him from where he was hidden in the dark. The most difficult part of this bit actually was tearing away from that guy, but at least that wasn’t dangerous and just eating at his nerves. Once outside and away a few steps, Jacob raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t ask”, Max sighed and took a deep breath.

They had organised for two motocycles to be down the road for them to leave on and tried to hurry there without making it too obvious.

Walking briskly along a row of old trucks, Max had spotted two guys approaching. He ducked out of line, his gun at the ready. He thought he’d vaguely recognised one of them.

"Jacob, long time no see,“ one of them drawled, nodding at him, albeit a little uncertain, a little cautious.

He whipped his head to his left to see Jacob’s body stay tense only for a moment longer before relaxing. He lowered his gun and was nodding back.

"Indeed.“

Surprise, disbelief, disappointment. That fragile thing he and Jacob had seemed to shatter.

"Saw you earlier. At the factory parking lot.“

"I know.“

"You did? Didn’t seem like it."

"Could hardly make it obvious, could I.“

"So what? Your boyfriend here don’t see it?“

"No boyfriend. I still like them curvy.“

"So not in cahoots with the pig?“

"He can be surprisingly useful.“

"Boyfriend, as I said.“

"Boytoy, if anything.“

Max’s breathing became faster and he didn’t like where this conversation was going. He didn’t like that there was one at all.

"Ohhh, making good use of those lips then?“

"I prefer looking into a beautiful woman’s face, but he’s tight and does cry pretty.“

"Now we’re getting somewhere. Look at him. You like that, huh?“, the shorter of the two men shot Max a sleazy look at that.

“Want a bit of a show?”

Jacob, tall and self-confident, had adopted a slightly more sophisticated but still unpleasant version of that expression.

Max bristled. He was shaking from anger at them, at Jacob, at the situation. At himself. He should have known better. Jacob was a criminal. He had shot him. Ruined his life. A small voice unhelpfully supplied that he also saved him and worked alongside him. But that could be explained. It served Jacob. Somehow. Maybe somewhere deep down Max always had expected it to go wrong. He just hadn’t expected it to go that way in particular and wasn’t prepared for a his gun being quickly taken from him or the strong hand at his neck pushing him off-balance and walking him against the nearest wall.

\------------------------------

The two men were leaning against stacked up pallets, one with his feet crossed in front of him, the other with his arms casually slung back. Sly and dirty smiles on their faces, but also some tension to their bodies, not quite trusting the situation, firearms loosely at their sides. Not a sight he liked. Neither that Jacob was pressed up against him.

Max was pressing back, trying to push off the wall, trying to free himself.

He was pinned by the wrists, his arms extended and angled to the sides above his head, a leg against his good one, a chest to his back. Max had his training; he could fight, could defend himself. But he wasn’t up against some ruffians or someone unexpecting. He was held in place by someone who knew what they were doing and – as the wide chest against his shoulders and the chin close to the crown of his head painfully reminded him – someone significantly bigger than him. And worse: Someone he didn’t expect this from. Yes, he should have been more careful, but so far Jacob had been on his side and rather protected him from harm than caused any. Admittedly, it was a sort of union of necessity and of a shared goal. It wasn’t like he was here with Sarah or Juka, although latter relationship had gone awry too. He should have been more careful.

He cursed himself as he struggled against the hard plane behind him, but came to a halt when he felt metal press to the side of his head.

“Be a good boy and hold still, will you?“, a drawl, self-satisfied and almost lewd in nature.

Max gritted his teeth. He wasn’t a boy and he most certainly would not hold still. As soon as the chance arose for him to get out of this, ideally unharmed, he would fight for it. He could feel Jacob lean in, angling his head towards his ear. Max felt hot breath against it when he heard the low rumble.

“You better act good if you want to get out of this.“

The words weren’t so different from what Jacob had just said, but the tone was. Repressed anger, and intimate, like this was just for him. Before he could ponder on it and decipher what it meant, he felt his legs being kicked apart and his wrists drawn together above his head, so they could be held with one strong forearm across his, the hand angled downward with the gun towards his head.

He heard a metallic clinking and felt a pull at his hips. Jacob’s other hand had moved lower and was doing swift work of his belt buckle. He could hear his zipper being pulled and felt his jeans being pushed down crudely. No. Not this. This wasn’t happening. Panic rose in him and he started struggling anew, gun be damned. It only earned him another shove into the wall and a hard leg now pressing against his bad one. He barely stiffled a yelp that threatened to escape but had to realise that, once again, he was pinned in place.

“What are you doing? Get off of me!“

“Good. Keep going.“ Quiet approval.

He didn’t want this. He had to stop it. Jacob wouldn’t really do this, would he? He wasn’t the type for this. A criminal, yes, but in a way still decent. Max’s face was pressed sideways against the wall and he could see the two men now looking more interested in the scene in front of them, one of them leaning slightly forward. The hand pushing his briefs down didn’t raise any confidence in him though; his breaths were coming quick, his heart beat heavily in his chest. He heard more clinking and now felt the hand work behind him. The sounds were accompanied by a sleazy:

“Ready when you are, darling. And don’t forget what I told you.“

_Be a good boy._

His head was loud, his heart in his throat. No, no, no, no! He tried once more to escape the hold and made a desperate little noise, but it only resulted in being pressed forward harder, now not just short of breath out of fear, but because his chest was being crushed into the wall.

Max felt skin against his backside and his body went rigid, hands balled into fists, eyes screwed shut. His hips were pulled back a little for a better angle and Jacob was mouthing at his ear.

“Remember. …and scream.“

He didn’t want to, thought about trying to hold any and all noises in, not giving him or the men the satisfaction of hearing his pain. Equally, he knew his chances for that were slim. If he was entered dry and without preparation, he would tear. And scream. He hadn’t really been with a man before, but he knew as much. The most he had done was a drunken fumble as a teenager, but only once or twice, completely shitfaced, and nothing more than sloppy kisses and over-eager hands.

Max heard the sound of spitting and tried turning his face to the other side. Let him have at least that small mercy. He felt movement, skin adjusting against him, and his hips were slammed forward.

He screamed.

There was a grunt, a hand gripping his hips tightly and … no pain. He could feel Jacob adjusting behind him, wiggling his hips slightly. Max was still as taut as a bowstring, but tried to assess the situation as good as he could – given the circumstances of being half merged into a wall, two men watching his predicament, and a much taller man against his back, forcing his way into him. Except it didn’t quite add up. He felt… nothing. The rough surface of the wall against his cheek and hands and yes, a burn against his dick from meeting the wall openly, but his insides should feel on fire. He should feel like he was being torn apart. But he didn’t.

Max’s thoughts were racing, replaying what happened. Two goons walking their way, Jacob placating them, then turning with a sleazy and cold smile towards him, slamming him against the wall, jeans torn down, Jacob behind him, Jacob’s jeans down, flesh against his arse.

_Remember. _

_Be a good boy._

He had felt flesh, but he didn’t feel anything inside him. Thinking back more clearly, it had felt like a flat circle. A ring of fingers. Holding a dick. Maybe.

_Don’t forget. _

_Better act good._

Jacob’s hips were snug against his, opened jeans against his naked flesh, and soft cotton. No skin.

_Act good._

Jacob wasn’t moving. His body tense, as if he waited for something.

_Act._

His mouth fell open and a small noise of surprised realisation escaped him. Apparently, that was the cue for Jacob who pulled his hips back and slammed forward again, this time causing him to just about hit the wall, instead of being slammed into it.

_And scream._

And scream he did. Every rough push deserved its own. He hid his face against his arms as his brain caught up. Immobile and being manhandled at the same time, Max varied his screams with pained, high pitched noises, held-back screams that broke through anyway, and helpless groans.

These men were goons Jacob had worked with before, but if what was happening was anything to go by, he didn’t intent doing so again.

Jacob was grunting, the occasional moan thrown in, rutting against him.

“Not so brave now, huh? Do you like it? Do you like having your arse fucked raw?“

Taunting words panted into the open space around him. Again and again he felt his body being pushed and pulled, used. The hand left his hips, a forearm across his stomach, fingers splayed against his chest, - holding in place, restricting, comforting - then moved back to gripping his hip for better purchase.

Max made sure to clench and unclench his hands, to squirm, brows furrowed in pain, eyes moist. By now he mostly whimpered with the occasional yelp or pained groan in-between.

Jacob was giving quite the performance himself, the sounds becoming more desperate by the minute, his head sometimes flung back to face the sky, other times burried into Max’s shoulder, his sharp jaw digging into him. The thrusts had an added sense of urgency and a level of desparation, so did the breathy moans coming against his head. He shuddered at the noises, face pinched in mock pain, teeth gritted, then let his mouth fall open for silent groans, trying to find purchase against the wall with his arms still held above his head, although badly now and he could break lose if he wanted to.

Max wasn’t sure where exactly this was going except for the fake orgasm Jacob was going to have any moment now. Would he be left to fall to the ground afterwards, supposed to stay down, so Jacob could saunter to his former friends, going off to God-knows-where, so that he could get away and finish the job? Would he be expected to take initiative and shoot the guys after this ended, when Jacob pretended to walk towards them in triumph? Was Jacob finished with him after this, or would he punch or kick him for good measure?  
  
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a hand grip his hair tightly and pull back. The next yelp that escaped him was a real one. He heard a desperate moan and then felt hot puffs of air and sharp teeth against his throat, the thrusts erratic and more desperate slamming than anything else. Apparently, Jacob had decided this was to be it. He went stiff behind him, pushing him against the wall a final time, and after a moment he heard a loud, drawn out groan. He matched it by tensing up himself and offered a pained moan before lolling his head against the wall.

Max waited with anticipation as Jacob clung to him. He felt hot and cold all over, his face flushed, his dick hurting slightly – but that was to be expected from being pushed naked into a rough wall. He was still soft, but could feel a minute tingling. It was an uncomfortable and disconcerting feeling that had him try to justify and excuse it. Fake as this whole thing may have been – for which he was immensely grateful – he did have what felt like a very toned body press against him for some time, capable hips rutting against his naked ass, wet, hot breaths against his throat, moans and grunts in his ear and a surprisingly sensual display of strength that partly served to hold him in place to play his role, and partly genuinely reminded him that he wouldn’t know the outcome if he and Jacob were to have a real fight.

He knew Jacob put on a show – his act good rang in his ears again – but he felt a little unsure on his feet anway. It was surreal. The man who had ruined his life but saved it several times over had fake-raped him and was currently stroking his hip gently and whispering a soft "Okay?“ against his neck.

How are you supposed to answer that?  
  
How are you supposed to feel about that?  
  
He hated him, this, but there was what felt like an ant race inside his chest, his shoulders; his head felt both too loud and too empty. No matter what had happened before or transpired just now – or maybe precisely because of how this just had played out – he was trying his damnest to push back something he didn’t want to examine. He should hate him. Completely. Not feel something in his chest that some might say was reminiscent of a form of Stockholm syndrome. No, he was fine. Just fine. It just meant he saw how things were. Seeing Sternwood as the enemy, black and white, was too easy. That didn’t do him justice. Anybody else would have shot him in the tunel. Would have left him to be killed in the club. Would have shot him in the morgue. Or any other chance they would have had. Jacob hadn’t. He looked at him with an unredeable expression when he drained his knee or averted his gaze. He gripped his shoulder or waist to help him walk or run when his knee hurt too much to do so all by himself. He bought him a coffee when it was too late to be awake, or told him off when Max looked barely conscious. If he was honest, he knew it wasn’t quite healthy. Jacob Sternwood had become his sole focus, his obsession. He should plainly and unemotionally wish for his capture and be done with it. But nothing ever was easy in life, there hardly ever was a clear path, and scarcely anything was as black and white as people made it seem.

His musings ended abruptly when he felt his arms being pulled down and blood rushed painfully back into them. At first, he didn’t quite notice, but upon being nudged again, he felt metal in his right hand, concealed by his and Jacob’s bodies. He slid down to the ground in a show of shame and pain, acting defeated.  
  
Jacob was doing up his own jeans by the sound of it and the feeling of cool air hitting Max’s bare backside. He scrambled to do the same, all the while trying to conceal the gun he had been given. Max knew he had to be a good shot or else they would be in real trouble.

Jacob walked towards the two men, a smile on his face, his body pointedly relaxed.

"So, what do you think?”

His supposed display of cruelty had appealed to them and was understood as the sign of connection it had been intended as.

“You didn’t promise too much.”

“He cries pretty and sounds like a little bitch,” the taller of the two added as the first thing he said that evening. He was the muscle to the brains, it seemed, although just how much brain the other guy had was questionable.  
  
“Told you he was nice.”

Jacob was just a large step away from the gun on the ground and glanced back at Max, giving him the smallest nod.

Max took a deep breath and jumped up from his crouched position, gun pointed at the guy on the right, the one marginally closer to him, and fired. That was the signal for Jacob to dive forward, grabbing the gun on the ground and shooting the shorter goon standing to the left.

They were taken aback and scarcely able to fire their own weapons before going down in bloody heaps.

“Come! Hurry”, Jacob signalled him and Max ran in his direction.  
  
His legs were hurting, his knee acting up, but he had no time to worry about it. Leave it to Jacob to catch it anyway and grip his upper arm to pull him along.

They ran the rest of the way to their motorcycles before Jacob asked if he was good to go. Max assented and hopped onto his before he was stopped again.

“I’m sorry. I am. I need you to know that I have never done something as despicable and would never do that to you or anyone else.”

“We can talk about it later, let’s get out of here.”

Jacob had an expression that was difficult to read; maybe disapproval, maybe worry, maybe reluctance. He pressed his lips together for a moment before getting on his own bike.

As they drove away, he could feel eyes on him, but he was adamant about focusing on getting away. That was their priority right now. Everything else could wait. He just knew it could have gone very differently and was glad it didn’t.

Maybe this relationship wasn’t that fragile after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The fic idea came from a conversation about how film makers love making McAvoy cry or hurt because he is looks so pretty when he does.  
Max's expression at the end of the movie with Jacob was everything, and I applaud McAvoy for it. It also made me want to have a look into his head and I guess that's where this fic came from. He is damaged beautifully and deserves a hug.  
It's a horid topic, though, and I apologise.


End file.
